Chocolate Digestives and Sibling Rivalry
by exiled mind
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft argue. Not surprising. Mycroft's method of dealing with Sherlock's taunts, however, is.


Prompt: From LJ's sherlockbbc_fic's meme - _Mycroft distracts himself from hunger with sex.  
><em>Pairing: Mycroft/John  
>Content Advisory: Sexual situations, language<p>

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><p><strong>Chocolate Digestives and Sibling Rivalry<strong>

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><p>Sherlock had been extremely and unnecessarily obnoxious earlier during Mycroft's initial visit to 221B Baker Street regarding the whole affair with the PM's aide and the theft of some rather... sensitive video footage.<p>

It wasn't just Sherlock ignoring Mycroft's polite pleas for help, lying about his lack of free time for 'trivialities', and sneering at Mycroft's less-than-polite-and-perhaps-better-classified-as-goading attempts to convince his brother to take the case. Oh no. Sherlock had also spent the entire quarter-hour snacking liberally from an overfull plate of chocolate digestives and raspberry scones obviously left by the landlady-not-housekeeper.

As if Mycroft didn't know that the man eschewed food while on a case. Honestly, did Sherlock think him a common moron?

No, it was clear that Sherlock was simply and merrily continuing their life-long feud by both denying Mycroft his request for assistance, as well as teasing him with foods that had been on his diet's forbidden list for a significant length of time.

Sherlock would carefully select a treat, occasionally commenting aloud on the merits of its size, shape, or raspberry-bits-to-dough ratio, nibble at it lightly, and then hop up from the chair to find a book or check an experiment or to pluck at his violin and then abandon it on various surfaces around the flat in his distraction. Where they remained throughout Mycroft's visit. Taunting him.

Mycroft was sure that if it wasn't for his brother's flatmate, the biscuits would likely still be there, stale and collecting insects, in a month's time.

"And where is Doctor Watson, Sherlock?"

"Oh," his brother said, waving a hand towards the window. "Out somewhere. Doing the shopping. Working. Something boring. Not back until this afternoon." Sherlock looked up and met Mycroft's eyes. "At which time you will be gone and not available to try and lure him into doing your dirty work for you."

"My dirty work, Sherlock? Really?"

"He's _your_ PM and _your _PM's aide doing naughty things with visiting dignitaries where the cameras can catch them."

"He's your PM too, you know."

Sherlock waved his hand again dismissively and went back to tuning the violin. "Details."

::

Soon after, Sherlock had ushered him out, citing important research to be done at Bart's – as though Mycroft couldn't easily obtain access back into the Baker Street flat any time he wished – and trotted off with a bounce in his step, clearly self-satisfied by his supposed victory over his fraternal nemesis.

::

Which was why Mycroft felt absolutely no pity for Sherlock when the man later returned to Baker Street and walked in towards the end of Mycroft's successful seduction of one Doctor John Watson.

Mycroft did indeed know the best way to get Sherlock's attention was to go through John. And John was really a surprising specimen of a man underneath those jumpers.

″Be with you shortly, Sherlock,″ he said, palming John's cock. John jerked at the Sherlock's name, causing Mycroft to shift his free hand down to the man's chest and press him back against the couch cushions.

″Wha-″ John's attempted protest was cut off by a harsh gasp when Mycroft rubbed a thumb over the head of John's cock. John's legs tightened around Mycroft's hips, making his rhythm stutter briefly.

Distantly, Mycroft heard Sherlock stomping noisily off to his bedroom a minute later, but really, at that point, he couldn't spare the energy to care about his brother, the PM, or global affairs.

::

A short while later when Mycroft had returned himself and his clothing to order and John was in the shower, likely debating which Holmes brother to murder first, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom with a fierce scowl across his face.

″That was unscrupulous of you, Mycroft. I wish I could say I thought that sort of manipulative behaviour beneath you, but-″ He cut off his own snottily uttered remark with a shrug and glared furiously out the window.

″Manipulative behaviour? Really, Sherlock, you exaggerate.″ Mycroft checked under the sofa and discovered his errant umbrella.

″A liaison with my flatmate? All to coerce me into being your errand boy?″

Mycroft tapped the tip of his umbrella against the floor. ″Who said anything about you, Sherlock? If my memory serves, you already turned down my request.″ Due to the difficulty in achieving such a feat, Mycroft found surprising his brother an entertaining diversion. It took actual effort not to reveal the thrill that Sherlock's furrowed brow gave him.

Mycroft turned, whipping the umbrella around once and tossing it over his shoulder. ″Ah, John, you're ready. Shall we?″

Sherlock whipped around to follow Mycroft's gaze and spotted John at the door to the living room, hair still damp and dressed in yet another patterned jumper. ″Yes, let's. Off to dinner, Sherlock, probably back late.″ John waved Mycroft through the door and paused to look back at Sherlock's vaguely horrified expression. ″No need to wait up.″

John paused again halfway down the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, ″And I'll be putting my phone on silent!″

::

As Mycroft opened the door to the car that slid to a stop in front of them just as they reached the street, he couldn't resist a small smile. Who needs chocolate digestives when there were siblings to torture and attractive physicians to get to know on a more _personal_ level?


End file.
